"Two of them I ate yesterday, an' the third to-day," he concluded, after another long pause.
"I ain't 'ad anything to-day," said the Carter.

"An' I'm fagged out.

My legs is hurtin' me something fearful." "The roll you get in the 'spike' is that 'ard you can't eat it nicely with less'n a pint of water," said the Carpenter, for my benefit.

And, on asking him what the "spike" was, he answered, "The casual ward.

It's a cant word, you know." But what surprised me was that he should have the word "cant" in his vocabulary, a vocabulary that I found was no mean one before we parted.
I asked them what I might expect in the way of treatment, if we succeeded in getting into the Poplar Workhouse, and between them I was supplied with much information.